Single Mother of a Werewolf Baby

Chapter 175: Inside the Underground Laboratory

In the cabin, Nora sat cross-legged on the bed, motionless, as if meditating. She had remained in that position since entering the cabin hours ago, without the slightest movement. She wore a black tracksuit, the hood pulled low to cast her face in shadow. Only her pale chin and thin lips were visible beneath the fold of fabric.

Upon hearing Robert’s knock and voice, she finally moved. She slid off the bed and adjusted her posture. Even in the island’s humid, sweltering air, she wore gloves and made no attempt to remove them. A pair of black running shoes covered her feet, silent with each step.

She opened the cabin door and descended the stairwell without a word. Robert followed closely behind, never daring to guide her... as he felt that she needed no directions.

As they reached the tunnel entrance, Robert finally spoke.

"Edward, this is Miss Nora. From now on, she has the final say here. Don’t waste time with pleasantries... she only cares about the work."

Edward gave a slight bow. "Understood. Welcome, Miss Nora."

Nora said nothing. She gave a small nod, which was barely perceptible.

All Edward could see was her unnaturally white chin and lips. The rest of her body was concealed... no skin exposed, not even her hands.

Robert looked around. "Seems the empty boxes were cleared already. I’ll take my leave then. Edward, see you next time."

With that, he turned and left the tunnel.

Outside, four of his subordinates were already waiting. Robert gave a single nod, and they immediately pushed the massive boulder back into place, sealing the tunnel entrance.

They gathered the remaining boxes and carried them back to the ship.

Shortly after, the deck rumbled with the vibration of the engines. The ship pulled away from the dock in silence and slowly vanished into the dark horizon.

Even after the ship had fully disappeared from sight, Ghay Moo waited another ten minutes before issuing the next command.

He turned on his radio. "Soldiers. Move to the dock."

Quietly, he and his men emerged from the jungle shadows and made their way to the now-empty dock. There, twenty large boxes waited for them.

began opening

was filled

team counted and logged

inventory, the first light was touching the horizon with a gentle stroke... like a painter brushing gold across a sleeping canvas. Over the quiet island, shadows retreated, giving way to

the warmth like a secret held close. Along the sandy crescent of

turned to glass, mirroring the sky’s gentle blush... rose gold, powdered peach, and the faintest blue of waking clarity. The air shimmered, laced with the scent of salt and blooming champaca, while the hush of early birds swept low over

a fleeting moment, it

pulled out his radio and began reporting the contents of the

***

within the dense and humid jungles of eastern Myanmar, where rivers cut through hills like silent knives, and mist lingers long after dawn, his superior

They had recently lost ground, pushed back in several regions. These

bled for. Its fighters were born under the weight of a

positions... hidden on mountain ridges, buried under forest canopies, tucked in ravines where no road could reach, the KNLA fights a war of survival and resistance. On official maps, their bases barely exist. But on the ground, they are lifelines: dugouts, bunkers, jungle tents, training fields, and watchposts. All guarded by men and women who

and decades of brutal suppression. The KNLA knows the scent of ash from torched villages, the hollowed-out remains of schools turned to craters. Their enemy flies above them. Their defiance is met

anti-aircraft guns. No missiles.

not in machines... but in their bond with the terrain, their discipline, and their inherited pain. KNLA fighters move like ghosts through the green, laying ambushes, disabling bridges, vanishing before counterstrikes land. Some bases hold around fifty fighters. Others far fewer. But across the jungles, hills, and rivers... thousands

in silence, scanning the skies for any flash of movement. Their lines of communication are fragile but still active. Radio chatter connects them to allied units: the People’s Defence Forces, the Kachin Independence Army, and others who... for the first time in decades... have

fellow fighters... they are the villagers. Whole families living in the forest, moving camp to camp,

federal Myanmar, where the Karen and all other peoples of the hills and plains can speak their own languages, keep their ancestral lands, and never again be forced to bow at gunpoint before a central army. The vision has evolved: from secession to shared sovereignty. Not a breakaway, but

of weapons felt like

***

hidden deep within the mountain, Nora walked

a sprawling laboratory complex, alive with quiet urgency. Scientists moved between terminals,

descended to this level via a crude lift, fashioned from industrial scaffolding and steel cabling. Now she moved like a phantom... her black, hooded tracksuit concealing every inch of her body. Gloves covered her hands. Her face

to inspect a monitor. At other times, she simply observed the scientists at work. Her gaze lingered... intense but

she moved slowly, meticulously, inspecting each cooling unit, every blinking indicator light, every rack of data hardware.

had completed her circuit, she spoke for

downstairs. Please lead the

the room like mist over water... impossibly calm, almost